Ten Years Later
by Camelfaging
Summary: A project for English class. One-shot about Ralph's life ten years after he escapes the island. First story.


**This was an assignment that I had to do for English class, actually. I liked the way it turned out, so I decided to post it on here as my first story. Please review and tell me what you think!**

* * *

**Ten years later…**

Ralph still woke up screaming from nightmares, ten years after he managed to escape that horrible place. During the night, he was plagued with visions of murderous dances, festering parachutists, bloody pig carcasses, but mostly he saw his friend's broken body, sinking in the water, slowly turning it red with his blood. Then that boy, Jack Merridew, would leer at him and laugh, and Ralph would watch in horror as he turned into Simon, his body riddled with dripping holes. "_You did this to me,"_ the mangled creature would say, and then his head would morph into that of the dead pig, left out as an offering for the beast and crawling with flies.

At this point, Ralph usually sat up abruptly, soaked in sweat, screaming at the top of his lungs. He would check his surroundings, making sure that he was rid of that ghastly island. His racing pulse would slow to a dull _ba-thump_, and his shallow breathing would return to normal. After a few minutes or so, he always managed to fall back into a deep sleep, which was blissfully free of dreams, good and bad.

This particular night, however, Ralph could not fall back asleep. He had just dreamed of something different, something that Simon had said, before he was brutally murdered during one of their hunting rituals. He'd said, _"Maybe–maybe there is a beast. What I mean is…maybe it's just us."_

All of the fears that Ralph had managed to quell–that he had never really escaped the beast, that it was just lurking around every corner–came rushing back into his mind. He thought that he had managed to dispel them completely, but even several years of counseling and therapy could not erase all of his memories of the island. He shuddered, because he wondered; what if the beast hadn't been something tangible? What if it was like a disease, infecting them all, incurable and slowly turning them into monsters themselves? What if he, Ralph, was a beast, carrier of this horrible virus, and was spreading it to everybody around him? What if every person he had ever come into contact with was a beast as well, looking to terrorize him and crush him, tearing away every last thread of hope he held on to?

He couldn't stand the thought that the very thing he'd been trying to escape, to avoid, to _forget_ all these years _was_ him, inside and out.

Ralph could feel his heart rate quicken, his breathing become more shallow and frantic. Fast as lighting, he jumped out of bed raced to the washroom where he promptly vomited into the toilet. When he was finished, he rinsed his mouth and flushed the bile down, as his stomach had been mostly empty. He turned on the lights and, looking into the mirror, noticed the purple bags under his eyes. His face was gaunt and, lifting his nightshirt, he carefully counted each of the ribs under his sickly pale skin. He let his shirt fall back down, and, hands shaking, he reached for his medication. He swallowed twice the amount his doctor had prescribed and then went to stand outside on the balcony in the cool night air. The London smog obscured most of the stars, but he looked up into the sky nonetheless, looking for the constellations that his father had taught him. Oh, how he missed his parents.

* * *

When Ralph had returned to Britain on the ship that had rescued them from the island, he had expected to be welcomed by the loving arms of his parents. However, all of the boys were met with horrible news: their parents had been killed during the war, blown to bits by the bombs that had rained down upon London.

Many of the boys had broken down then and there, falling to their knees and sobbing, shoulders shaking. Ralph was ashamed to admit that he had been among those sniveling boys, wailing like a newborn child. Jack, he had noticed amidst his tears, had remained impassive.

The boys were placed into orphanages or taken in by relatives that lived in the country, thus escaping the bombings. Ralph, having no living relatives, was forced to live in an orphanage with Jack, much to his chagrin, and several other escapees of the island. However, almost every one of them suffered from horrible nightmares and were placed in therapy and counseling.

_Almost_ every one of them–because Jack never woke up screaming during the night, babbling for his dead mother. He remained stoic and showed no emotion for his dead family. He was still as mean as ever, and took a cruel joy in bullying the younger children in the orphanage. However, Ralph knew that underneath his façade of toughness and indifference was nothing but a thirteen-year-old boy who grieved for his lost parents. Ralph had once crept into the bathroom and had seen Jack sitting on a toilet, head in his hands, weeping, with a wrinkled photograph clutched in his fingers. He had left quietly, unnoticed by the other boy, and endeavored to be more sympathetic towards Jack from then on.

When Ralph grew older, he left the orphanage and shared an apartment with Roger, with whom he had formed a grudging friendship during their stay at the orphanage. They had both found relatively well-paying jobs and lived well for about three months. However, Roger's younger sister, who had still been living at the orphanage, died of an illness shortly after New Year's, almost four months after they had moved out. Roger could not be consoled, and committed suicide three months later. Ralph had sunk into a deep depression and began to eat less and less, gradually declining until one of his neighbors noticed his poor health. He was sent back into counseling and therapy and was prescribed medicine to help with the depression.

It was at the counseling centre that he ran into Jack, almost five years since the last time he had seen him, at the orphanage. Jack had looked terrible, and Ralph imagined that he hadn't looked much better. His hair was mussed, his clothes were too big and looked like they hadn't been washed in a week, stubble covered his face and there were bags under his eyes. When Ralph began to talk with Jack after noticing his loneliness, he realized that Jack had matured. Jack told him how his only friend at the orphanage, Maurice, whom he had been living with, had been killed in an accident at the factory where he worked. He opened up and told him how much he missed his parents, something he never would have said several years before.

They both discovered that they actually had much in common. They had suffered the same things, and although Jack had treated Ralph terribly at times, it had mostly been out of fear and desperation. They had parted ways on a good note, and had arranged to have coffee sometime. It had seemed like a good way to start anew.

* * *

In the dark sky, a single bright star winked at him, and Ralph remembered something that Jack had said to him when they had met at the counseling centre, only a few days prior: _"You know, I don't think we ever got to know each other properly. Because of the circumstances, we were always under pressure and naturally assumed the worst of each other. But, I think, had things been different, we could have actually been good friends."_

Ralph smiled shakily, knowing that what Jack had said was true. He had answered simply, "_I could use a friend."_ Jack had nodded and held out his hand for Ralph to shake. "_I look forward to seeing you again, Ralph."_

And Ralph knew, staring up at the stars, that he had finally managed to escape the beast.


End file.
